


Sensations

by thespiritualmultinerd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: "Take my hand", Attraction, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, John's POV, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 01:32:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespiritualmultinerd/pseuds/thespiritualmultinerd
Summary: John was pretty good at denying his attraction to Sherlock - up until now.





	Sensations

\- Take my hand!

_What?_

No, it made sense, John thought. They were handcuffed to each other and running full speed, it was only logical to hold hands for more stability and coordination.

_Still._

He felt Sherlock’s fingers reaching out to touch his palm and, after only a millisecond of hesitation, he stretched his own fingers trying to find a grip. Sherlock quickly got them organised and took John’s hand in his in a determined hold. They were still running, feet slamming on the pavement, hearts beating, lungs expanding to get more of the chill air with fresh oxygen into the system, blood flowing to every hard working muscle and eyes tearing in the wind, but now there was a new sensation for John to register as well. His hand suddenly felt about twice as warm as the rest of his body. He tried to ignore it.

_It is on fire._

\- Now people will definitely talk!

_Stupid thing to say. But it felt better than letting the silence speak._

Sherlock didn’t reply. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe he didn’t care. But his grip was just as steady and firm as before. They kept running.

_I trust you._

The fire was spreading and it was becoming harder to ignore its existence and, moreover, its origin.

It was not as if Sherlock had never touched him before. One time he had grabbed him without warning, putting his gloved hands on his arms, his head, all over him. John had felt the same sensation then, his nerves burning and his blood boiling, feeling safe and ready to fly at the same time. But it had been easy to pretend the feeling came from the surprise and not something else entirely. He didn’t know the “madman” very well back then, was not as used to his eccentricities. The memory of it was carefully tucked away in an almost subconscious part of John’s mind, ready to be taken out now and again in secret reminiscence, never admitted but never forgotten. And if there had been other instances after that – a spark at the accidental touch of hands, a warmth at the pressing of a hand on his shoulder – they were only moments in passing and easily forgotten. There was always something else to focus on.

But not this time. There was a fire, gentle but fierce, steadily making its way up the nerves of his arm and spreading through his body. It touched his abdomen, his chest and his legs, making them slightly weaker. It settled in his throat and briefly compromised his breathing. It was there and it was real, and it made him feel as if all his inner organs and bones had suddenly melted and been reduced to a warm, jelly-like mass under his skin. He felt defeated and elevated at the same time, completely overtaken by this fantastic power of energy which source was Sherlock’s hand. He kept on breathing deeply. It was not just hard to ignore. It was impossible. Sherlock had his hand in a firm grip, hard but at the same time gentle. Safe. John held on a little tighter and wondered if the fire went both ways.

Suddenly they turned a corner into an alley and were faced with an iron fence. Sherlock did not waste any time but swiftly climbed up on a bin and jumped the fence, most likely expecting John to follow just as gracefully. But instead John found himself left on the ground with his face pressed hard against the cold bars.

_Fuck._

\- Sherlock, wait! he called, reaching out to grab the detective. Their hands had lost the grip but the wonderful sensation of connection still remained, and John felt as if it was that magnetism that brought Sherlock’s face close to his rather than himself pulling at the detective’s coat. He locked Sherlock’s eyes, fiercely blue and fired up with adrenaline, with his own and said as clearly and as calmly as he could:

\- We’re going to need to coordinate.

His breath was heavy, not only due to the sprint. John could feel Sherlock’s warm breath mingle with his own in the cold air and just barely touch his face with every exhalation. His thumb was slightly stroking Sherlock’s wrist where they were joined on the top of the fence. The moment seemed to expand.

_Trust me, as I trust you. Please._

_______________________________________________

Some twist, turns, a near bus accident and a gunshot later they found themselves on the couch in a small flat in the heart of the city. Sherlock had refused to turn on any lights out of caution and so they were sitting in the dark, watching the spots of streetlight on the walls and the occasional light from a car passing by dancing through the room. The place was dead quiet except for the humming of a fan somewhere and the constant buzz from the refrigerator. John’s breath had finally slowed down but he found it hard to relax, not knowing what was to happen next. His wrist was still chained to Sherlock’s and their hands were resting next to each other, not touching. They had not said a word for some time now. John’s arm was getting stiff, but he was reluctant to move even the slightest, afraid of accidentally touching Sherlock’s fingers in the dark. Sherlock sat just as still.

_This is ridiculous._

John took a deep breath and slowly sighed it out. He turned his head slightly in Sherlock’s direction, taking the opportunity to stir a little in his seat and stretch his fingers just a hint.

\- How long do you think we’ll wait? he said in a low voice.

\- Not too long, Sherlock mumbled, not moving an inch.

\- Yeah, John sighed, stealing a glance at him.

_What are you thinking?_

The silence stretched. John’s hand had moved just a bit closer to Sherlock’s, and he could feel the warmth radiating from it. He looked straight ahead.

_It would be so easy to take your hand again._

He wished Sherlock would talk to him. There must be a thousand thoughts running through his brilliant mind at this very moment, but not one of them was shared with John. Was he scared? Or only determined?

_Let me in._

He stretched his fingers slightly again, and this time his hand brushed Sherlock’s skin.

_Please._

A small huff escaped Sherlock, barely audible, and John wondered if he had felt the same spark of electricity as he had. His throat tightened.

_I could take your hand. I could hold it firmly again and tell you that you are not alone. That you will never be alone. That we are in this together, whatever it is._

He took a deep breath.

\- Sherlock…

\- Sch!

They both froze. Footsteps were heard in the stairwell outside, the door opened, and the light was turned on.


End file.
